


Prelude To An X

by mad_martha



Series: The Preludes Series [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_martha/pseuds/mad_martha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's a freelance journalist and Scully's just been assigned an "X" file to work on when they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude To An X

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted circa 1996.

   Special Agent Dana Scully unfastened her seat belt, and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.  She _hated_ flying, but once she'd been promoted to Field Agent status, it had become an almost daily necessity.  She would have to get used to it.

 

   She opened her briefcase with fingers that shook just the tiniest bit, and pulled out the case file.  Nerves were no excuse for wasting valuable investigation time, and Assistant Director Skinner had barely given her time to snatch her overnight bag before throwing her onto the plane to Oregon.  She needed to catch up on the case she would be investigating. She flipped open the file and began to sort through the assembled papers.  Three kids at Bellefleur High School had died in mysterious circumstances after a graduation party in the local woods some four years ago.  The FBI had been called in, but after several weeks of fruitless effort, had returned to Washington claiming a lack of evidence.  Two years later, two more kids from the same year group had died under similar circumstances, and once again the FBI investigated, only for the agents concerned to be recalled.  Now a sixth kid had died, and Scully was taking on the case.

 

   _Third time's the charm,_ she thought dryly, well aware that she was being despatched in the main because she was new to the Violent Crimes Section.  Pacify the locals with an FBI presence, and hope she either solves the case or the whole thing dies down again.  She wondered how it would look on her record if she failed.  Or maybe she, like the last set of agents, would be recalled before any conclusions could be drawn.

 

   She examined the autopsy reports and was interested to note that while the first five victims had no apparent cause of death, the latest had thrown up a few anomalies.  Scully checked the names of the medical examiners and discovered that the latest victim had been autopsied by a different pathologist. 

 

   Well, that was a good starting point.  Maybe something had been missed in the previous exams; in which case, it was fortunate that she'd had the foresight to request exhumation orders on two of the previous bodies.  In addition, two more kids from the same year were currently residing in the psychiatric ward of Bellefleur's hospital; one, a girl, was periodically released, only to be re-admitted with severe mental disturbance, while the other, a boy, had been in a persistent vegetative state since the night of the graduation party.  Scully made a note to check on them too, and see if it was possible to talk to the girl; if her mental condition went back to the party too, she might be able to shed some sort of light on events.

 

   Deep in her thoughts, Scully was unaware of the man in the next row, two seats back, who was watching her with shrewd-eyed interest.

 

xXx

 

   _This investigation,_ Scully thought, _is going to be even less of a party than I originally thought._

 

   Arriving in Bellefleur, she got herself a motel room and a rental car and headed straight to the local coroner's office to see what was happening about the exhumations - only to discover that one had been cancelled, thanks to the family getting a court order.  The second, that of a boy called Ray Soames, was still okay to go ahead, although the Coroner himself didn't seem terribly happy about it.  They drove out to the cemetery, only to be met by an angry delegation of townspeople, headed by the County Medical Examiner who was indignant at the suggestion that he might have been remiss when conducting the previous autopsies.

 

   Scully, watching the digger slowly emptying out the grave, closed her eyes briefly.  After a short and rather snappy exchange between herself and Dr. Nemman, he had been persuaded to leave by his young daughter - who, Scully had been interested to note, appeared to be one of the same year group as the victims - and after that, the rest of the crowd had been persuaded to break up by the sheriff.  But there was no mistaking the animosity towards the agent that was hanging over the entire town.

 

   Almost as if they didn't _want_ to know what had happened to their kids.

 

   Scully flipped open her file again, trying to pass the time, and ran over one part of the saga which was particularly curious in light of the townspeople's behaviour.  After the first three deaths, one of the year group, a boy called Danny Doty, had handed himself in to the police and confessed to the killings.  He was found to be severely psychotic and immediately locked up in the psychiatric wing of the state prison, and the case was apparently closed despite the fact that he had been unable to explain how his supposed victims had died.  And for some reason, no one had questioned this, even when two more kids had died while he was locked away.  This latest murder - of a girl named Karen Swenson - underlined the peculiar attitude of the townspeople, given that Danny Doty had hung himself in his cell six months ago.

 

   Scully was abruptly dragged out of her reverie by a sharp creaking and tearing sound.  The workmen had just begun to lift the coffin out of the grave with a hoist, but one of the straps holding it was fraying, and as Scully watched, it was strained too far ... and snapped.

 

   The coffin, violently released from its bonds, burst loose and crashed down the bank for several metres before it was brought up sharply against the headstone of another grave.  Scully, the sheriff and the coroner all rushed after it.  Already tilting at an odd angle, the shock of the final blow burst open the coffin's lid and exposed it's contents to the three onlookers who were just slithering to a halt beside it.

 

   The smell from the corpse was appalling, but that was not what brought three simultaneous gasps from Scully and the others.

 

   Scully hoped to God that this was just someone's idea of a sick joke, because if what was in that coffin was the late Ray Soames, then something utterly beyond her experience had happened to him either just before or after death.  The body was wizened and shrivelled, the skull abnormally large and shaped, the feet and hands huge and malformed.  Ray Soames's records stated that he had been well over six feet tall and athletic, the picture of health just before his graduation.

 

   "Sweet Jesus!" the coroner muttered, covering his nose with his sleeve and trying not to turn away in disgust.

 

   Scully pulled herself together quickly and indicated to the shocked sheriff that he should help her try and replace the lid of the coffin.  It was just starting to rain.  "Mr. Truit," she said firmly to the coroner, "I want this sealed up - I don't want anyone touching the coffin or it's contents until I've performed the autopsy on it."

 

   The coroner was together enough to realise the significance of this statement.  "An autopsy - you?  But Dr. Nemman - "

 

   "This is an FBI matter now," Scully cut him off.  "I'm a qualified pathologist, and I'll be performing any examinations necessary to this case."

 

   Her sharp statement was appreciated by only one person; a tall, lanky, dark-haired man with sharp eyes who was watching and photographing the entire affair from behind some trees a short distance away.

 

   The same man who had watched Agent Scully on the plane to Oregon.

 

xXx

 

   Up close, the corpse was even more disturbing than during the brief encounter in the cemetery, and Scully only got herself through the autopsy by virtue of sheer grit and professionalism.  Examining it, she was more than ever convinced that someone had switched the bodies - for what purpose, she couldn't imagine - but while her mouth was saying calm, reasoned, scientific things into the recorder, her brain was in a whirl.

 

   "Subject is one hundred and fifty-six centimetres long, and weighs fifty-two pounds.  It is in an advanced state of decomposition, consistent with the length of time it has been interred; and it has large ocular cavities and an oblate cranium, which indicate that the corpse is almost certainly not human.  My guess is that it's the corpse of an ape of some kind, possibly a orang-utan."

 

   Scully switched off the recorder and surveyed the body uneasily, before glancing up at a set of x-rays she had taken before starting the post-mortem.  Whatever it was, she still needed to open the body up, unpleasant though that necessity was, for the x-ray had revealed two unidentified objects buried in the tissues - one embedded in the nasal cavity, and one, slightly smaller, at the base of the neck.  The one in the nose at least looked too big to be buckshot, and was worth investigating.

 

   She said as much into the recorder, and set about the grisly task.

 

   Several hours later, and very much tireder, Scully had completed her preliminary examination and prepared the body for shipping back to the FBI laboratories for further tests.  The locals being singularly reluctant to help her, she had done all the prepping, examination and clean-up herself, and was now heading back to her motel, x-rays, recorded observations and other bits and pieces stashed in her briefcase for examination later.  Tomorrow, the tiresome round of questioning would have to begin, and Scully was under no illusions about how difficult it was going to prove to be.

 

   Right now, she didn't care.  She wanted a bath and something to eat - always supposing she could swallow anything after _that_ autopsy - and some sleep, if her imagination would let her.  But the day had one further trial in store for her.

 

   Halfway to the motel, as she was driving through down a road surrounded by thick woodland, the car abruptly gave up the ghost and died on her.

 

   Scully wanted to weep.  _Goddamn rental cars!_   Instead, she took a deep breath and twisted the key in the ignition.  The engine turned over wheezily a couple of times, coughed, spluttered, and gave up again.

 

   Muttering a few choice phrases learned from her Naval Captain father, Scully secured the handbrake, pulled the hood-release, and climbed out.  She didn't know much about the innermost workings of automobiles, but taking a peek was better than sitting around waiting for inspiration.  There was no ominous steam or smoke escaping, at least, but that reduced her ideas of what was wrong to nil. 

 

   Scully sighed and went back to get her cell-phone out of her bag, but as she was doing so, another sleek silver-grey Taurus passed her and pulled up a few metres ahead.  A tall, rather lanky dark-haired man, dressed in weathered jeans and a dark turtleneck sweater, got out and smiled at her.

 

   "Broken down?" he asked, surveying the insides of the engine.  His voice was pleasant, sort of silk-on-sandpaper.

 

   "I don't know.  It just died on me," Scully admitted.  "Do you know anything about Tauruses?"

 

   "Not much.  Any strange noises before it gave up?" 

 

   "No, none - it just slid to a halt."

 

   He nodded thoughtfully, leaning on the edge of the hood, then glanced up at her, an odd smile on his face.  "You're the FBI agent, aren't you?  Here to investigate Karen Swenson's death?"

 

   Scully eyed him warily.  "Yes - how did you know?"

 

   He shrugged.  "Pretty obvious.  Guess this isn't a good end to the day for you."

 

   "That's an understatement," she sighed, thinking of the autopsy.

 

   Warm hazel eyes surveyed her thoughtfully, before turning back to the engine.  "Well, the only thing I can think of is that the battery's gone.  One sure-fire way to find out - "  He walked around to the driver's side, leaned in and switched on the radio. 

 

   The high-pitched, varying whistle that suddenly blasted out made them both jump and wince, and Scully grimaced.  "Looks like it's not the battery either," she commented, but the man wasn't listening to her.

 

   He was staring at the radio with a sudden look of fierce, concentrated thought.  Abruptly, he abandoned her car and jogged back to his own.  To Scully's bewilderment, he switched his own radio on, and she could hear the same nerve-crawling, high-pitched squeal coming from it.  He went to stand between the two cars, staring around, lost in thought.

 

   "What are you looking for?" Scully asked finally.

 

   The sound of her voice jerked him back to reality with a start.  He stared at her for a few seconds, then gave her an oddly sweet smile.  "Probably nothing," he admitted, "but all the same - "  He went back to his car, and rummaged through the trunk until he came out with a large can of spray-paint.

 

   To Scully's increasing perplexity, he found a spot precisely between the two parked vehicles and sprayed the tarmac with a large orange X.  He looked up, caught sight of her open-mouthed expression and grinned almost mischievously.  "Well, you never know," he explained.

 

   "Never know _what_?" she demanded.

 

   "If I knew, I'd tell you," he assured her.

 

   _Oh, great!_ she thought wearily.  _He's some kind of nut after all.  And he seemed like such a nice guy -_    Proof, if she had ever needed it, that you should never judge people by appearances.

 

   She watched him stash his can of paint back in the trunk of the car, and viewed his return with some trepidation.  He seemed to read her expression, because a look of mingled resignation and sadness crossed his otherwise smooth features. 

 

   "I'm not crazy," he told her, but his tone said he didn't expect to be believed.  Scully kept a neutral expression, and he sighed.  "Look, can I give you a ride back to your motel?  I promise you I'm not going to turn into a rapist or mad axe-man on the way."

 

   Scully closed her eyes.  She was very tired, and wanted to put today behind her; tomorrow was going to be bad enough as it was.  "I don't even know who you are," she said finally - and hoped her voice didn't sound as feeble to him as it did in her own ears.

 

   He looked more than a little relieved, and offered his hand.  "Fox Mulder," he said.  "I'm a journalist - well, part-time.  I teach as well."

 

   Scully took his hand after a moment.  It was warm and the grip reassuringly firm, like her father's.  "Dana Scully," she replied. 

 

   He smiled tentatively.  "Grab your stuff, Agent Scully."

 

xXx

 

   The first few minutes of the journey were stiff and uncomfortable.  Finally, Scully decided she couldn't stand it any longer, and broke the silence.

 

   "So ... what paper do you work for?"

 

   "Huh?"  He shot her a startled look.

 

   "You said you were a journalist."

 

   "Oh yeah.  No, I'm freelance.  I work for a couple of specialist magazines, generally, but mostly I teach."

 

   "Oh.  Here in Oregon?"

 

   He half-smiled.  "No, Georgetown University, actually.  I teach psychology and - related subjects."

 

   Scully blinked.  _Georgetown?_   "So what brings you out here?"

 

   "The same thing as you - Karen Swenson and the other high-school kids."  He flashed her a quick grin.  "My turn, Agent Scully.  Can I buy you dinner?"

 

   Scully stiffened slightly.  Tired she might be; stupid she was not.  "Thanks, but no.  I've got a lot of work to be getting on with."

 

   He seemed to accept the rebuff philosophically, pulling into the motel car park.  "As you wish.  The offer'll still be open if you change your mind."

 

   Scully accorded this a perfunctory smile, supposing that as a journalist he had to try and pump her for information.  She grabbed her stuff and got out of the car.  "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Mulder."

 

   "Mulder," he corrected her.  She raised a brow, and he gave her an embarrassed smile and shrug.  "Just - Mulder.  Really."

 

   She accepted this with a bemused look and set off toward her room, trying not to think about the orange X in the road.

 

   "Don't work too hard," he called after her.

 

xXx

 

   After a leisurely bath and quick snack, Scully went back to her x-rays and recording of the autopsy; by 1.00AM she had begun the first draft of her report, and was beginning - finally - to sag from exhaustion.

 

   The last couple of sentences on the screen of her laptop computer were mocking her, though.

 

   ".... X-rays confirm that the corpse is that of a mammal, but they do not explain the presence of two small implants found in the nasal cavity and at the base of the neck.  Both are grey and metallic; the one in the nasal cavity is approximately one centimetre long, the other approximately two millimetres long.  They are as yet unidentified ...."

 

   She picked up a small glass vial containing the two pieces of metal and stared at them thoughtfully.  The one she'd found in the nose was particularly odd, about the size of a small plug fuse with rounded ends.  The other one could easily be mistaken for buckshot, but _this_ one was smooth and polished and looked manufactured.  As though it had been put there for a purpose.

 

   Which was ridiculous.

 

   Abruptly, Scully decided she'd had enough and began to tidy up the scattered x-rays, photos and assorted sheets of paper around her.  A good night's sleep was what she needed; she was tired and her mind was starting to conjure up fantasies.

 

   But at the last minute, she paused in the act of shutting down her laptop.  There was one last thing she could clear up tonight ....  She found the telephone socket, jacked in her modem and called up her e-mail programme, sending a quick message to a colleague at the Bureau.

 

   Just for her peace of mind, she could find out just who Fox Mulder was.

 

xXx

 

   The morning saw Scully driving out to the hospital in the hopes of seeing Billy Miles and Peggy O'Dell, the two kids receiving psychiatric care.  She took her time about it, telling herself that it was important to become familiar with the town's layout, but the truth was rather more basic; Scully hated mental illness.

 

   She wasn't afraid of it; nor did she have anything but the utmost compassion for it's sufferers.  But the helplessness, and the loss of both control and dignity suffered by the mentally ill was something she found difficult to tackle.  It was similar to at least some of the reasons for which she had specialised in pathology, much to her family's horror; totally aside from the fascination of persuading the dead to give up their secrets, Scully had discovered early on in her medical training that while healing the sick was a rewarding career, being unable to heal them was too traumatic.  She hated to see suffering she was unable to alleviate - hence her distress at mental illness.

 

   But the Bureau didn't pay her to be sentimental.  Six of these two kids' year-mates had died in suspicious circumstances, and she was here to find out what had happened.  They might be able to help her.

 

   Not that Billy Miles would be saying much, but his condition alone might be a pointer, and there was still Peggy O'Dell.

 

xXx

 

   Fox Mulder stayed in his car, parked carefully out of sight a short way away from the hospital.  He watched Agent Scully park and walk up the to entrance with interest, but not much surprise.  He had seen all this before.

 

   He had been intrigued when he'd heard that the FBI was re-opening the case, intrigued enough to poke his nose in again, for he had thought it had been permanently buried after the last investigation.  But when he'd followed the agent in question aboard the plane to Oregon, he'd begun to feel angry.

 

   Oh, not at her!  At the Bureau, for saddling a young, lone, obviously inexperienced Field Agent with a case which had managed to defeat several seasoned hands in the past and which would bring her few kudos even if she managed to solve it successfully.

 

   After observing her brisk, purposeful actions upon arrival in Bellefleur, and her skilful annihilation of both the County Medical Examiner and the Coroner, he revised his opinions significantly in her favour.  She might be young, she might be inexperienced, but she was gutsy - and if that was what she could manage after a tiring flight from DC (which, if he wasn't much mistaken, she hadn't enjoyed in the slightest), then God help the locals when she really geared up into investigative mode.

 

   And it got better still, for she had actually performed the autopsy on the late Ray Soames herself.  If it was Ray Soames.  Mulder paused, cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth pensively, and wished once more that he could have got a close look at the corpse.  He'd got a pretty good view through the telephoto lens, but it was no substitute for a close-up. 

 

   It was enough, though.  And she hadn't even flinched!  He thought of one or two FBI agents he'd known in the past, men who'd talked like Mafia hit-men and passed out colder than the corpses every time they had to attend an autopsy, and grinned.  She'd coolly ordered the Coroner to seal up the coffin, and practically rolled up her sleeves and got the scalpels out there and then.

 

   He'd waited discreetly outside the police morgue until she'd finally reappeared, and was pleased he'd done so, for the breakdown had given him a prime opportunity to introduce himself.  He'd wondered briefly if she'd recognise his name - it was a ticklish moment, considering his reputation - but there had been nothing but weariness and relief at the offer of a ride. 

 

   It wouldn't last long, he thought ruefully.  If she was as smart as he thought she was, she'd have done a background check on him by now, and all the unfortunate details would be dredged up.  Which was a shame because, totally aside from getting the story, he'd rather hoped she might accept his help on this case.  She was going to need all the help she could get, if the investigation followed the pattern of the previous two.

 

   He cracked another sunflower seed and watched her mounting the hospital steps thoughtfully.

 

   She was a pretty woman, although like most female FBI agents she wore the almost-uniform of severely tailored suits that deliberately downplayed her femininity.  She was short, barely 5' 2", with a pleasantly curved, rather delicate-looking figure.  Her softly rounded face was dominated by a pair of penetrating blue eyes and a head of magnificent red hair which she wore shoulder-length in a severely practical style.

 

   On the face of it, she was nothing particularly special, but there was something about her ....

 

   Mulder caught himself up sharply.  _Don't go down there,_ he warned himself.  He had travelled that path only once before in his life, but it had rebounded upon him with extraordinary vengeance, and he wasn't sure he wanted to risk making a mistake like that again.

 

 _Help the nice lady agent out, then get back to your own life again,_ he told himself sternly.  _She thinks you're a nut anyway - or if she doesn't now, she soon will._

 

   He settled down to wait for her to come out of the hospital again.  He doubted she would be long.

 

xXx

 

   Scully hoped that if she ever, through some terrible mischance, ended up like Billy Miles, someone would have the kindness to shoot her and have done with it.  Death had to be better than this.

 

   If she had just stumbled in off the street and knew nothing about him, first glance would suggest that there was nothing wrong with Billy.  He was propped up in bed, clean and neatly dressed, he was physically healthy and his eyes were open.  There wasn't a drip, monitor or other piece of medical equipment in sight to suggest that there was anything wrong.  But the most Billy Miles did in a day was blink.  He was in a waking coma.

 

   "Are there no prospects of him coming out of this?" Scully asked the man stood next to her, Dr. Glass.

 

   He shook his head, apparently unaffected by the sight.  That was something else Scully hoped would never happen to her.  A certain detachment was necessary in all branches of medicine, but the level necessary in Glass's area, the ability to view even Billy Miles as just another number on his roster, wasn't something she was comfortable with.

 

   "He hasn't responded to stimuli since the day he was brought in here, and it's unlikely he ever will," Glass told her.  "A terrible shame - he had a promising career ahead of him.  His family visit perhaps once a month now.  His most constant companion, as you can see, is Peggy O'Dell - when she's with us."

 

   Scully looked at the pale young woman in the wheelchair  by Billy's bed dubiously.  Peggy didn't show signs of being much more responsive than him at the moment.  "And she was diagnosed with post-adolescent schizophrenia shortly after the incident in at the graduation party?"

 

   Glass nodded.

 

   "According to notes taken by previous agents who investigated the incident, she wasn't the only one," she observed.

 

   "That's right," the doctor acknowledged.  "I've treated several of the class for schizophrenia since, although of course I can't go into individual cases with you."

 

   "On a general basis, though, what would you say caused it?" Scully persisted.

 

   Glass looked her straight in the eye.  "I honestly couldn't say, Agent Scully.  If I was forced to make a guess - a terrible shock of some kind, perhaps.  But you'll understand that that's a theory with no real basis.  Whatever caused it - whatever happened at that party - my job is to sort out the messed up heads of the kids.  The investigation is yours."

 

   Scully inclined her head in acknowledgement and looked at Peggy O'Dell again.  "Would it be possible to speak to her?  Would asking her about what happened be a problem?"

 

   "Go ahead," he shrugged.  "I doubt you'll get much sense out of her at the moment, though.  She's going through another bad patch."

 

   Scully didn't honestly think she'd get much from Peggy either, but she had to try.  She followed Glass over to the girl's side, observing dubiously the almost instant tension their approach provoked in the thin figure.

 

   "Peggy, honey, this nice lady's come to talk to you and Billy," Glass was saying kindly.  "Are you going to say hello?"

 

   Peggy neither moved nor raised her head, but Scully could see her eyes moving restlessly.  "I'm reading to Billy," she said in low, nervous voice - and indeed, they could see that she held a book open in her lap.  "Billy _needs_ me to read to him."

 

   "Why is that, Peggy?" Scully asked, striving to keep her voice level and gentle.  "Does he like you to read to him?"

 

   Peggy said nothing, but her fingers began to grip the book tightly in a white-knuckle grip.

 

   "You went to school with him, didn't you?" Scully persevered.  "Can you tell me about him?"

 

   Peggy shook her head sharply.

 

   "But you're friends, aren't you?"

 

   "Billy needs me," the girl said tensely.  "Billy knows I understand."

 

   Scully's brows drew together in a slight frown.  "Understand what, Peggy?"

 

   "The light."

 

   "And what light is that?"

 

   Glass shifted slightly, from one foot to the other.  "She often talks about lights, but - "

 

   "Billy and I have seen the light," Peggy interrupted him, "the light that came down out of the sky and ...."  Abruptly her voice erupted into a high-pitched scream, and she flailed out with her arms and legs.

 

   Scully and Dr. Glass hurried to try calm her, but before they could even move, the wheelchair was tipped over by the violence of the girl's actions.  Orderlies appeared out of nowhere, and Scully was gently pushed to one side as they swarmed to control Peggy before she could hurt herself.  Scully got one quick glimpse of the thrashing body on the floor before it vanished from sight - and saw something that made her eyes widen in surprise and sudden thought.

 

   In the small of Peggy O'Dell's back, revealed when the top of her pyjamas rode up, were two small but livid raised bumps.

 

xXx

 

   Scully almost ran from out of the hospital, her mind in a feverish whirl of speculation.  She had left the original case file in her car - a replacement rental car she had got by a combination of threats and cajolery early that morning - but she badly wanted to get it out and re-examine all the previous scene-of-crime photographs, to see if she really did remember seeing similar lumps on the backs of the other victims.

 

   "Did you see the bumps on her back?" a voice said suddenly, somewhere in the region of Scully's right ear.  It was so unexpected and she was so keyed up, that Scully jumped violently, dropping her keys and her bag in the process.  The owner of the voice leapt back hastily, raising his hands in apology at once.  "Hey, relax!"

 

   It was the journalist, Fox Mulder.  Scully leaned back against her car, taking a couple of deep calming breaths, while he picked up her things. 

 

   "Kind of nervous, aren't you?" he joked as he handed them back.  Then he saw her expression and, bizarrely, a slow flush began to work its way up from his neck.  "Look, I'm sorry," he said more quietly.  "I thought you saw me, or I wouldn't have done that."

 

   "What do you want?" Scully demanded, fumbling with her keys to unlock the car door.

 

   "I was wondering how you were getting on."

 

   "No comment!" she snapped icily, finally getting the door open, and was stunned to hear a wry chuckle from behind her.  She turned to look at him, and found him giving her a very mocking look.

 

   "Oh, come on!" he said, seeing her expression.  "Don't give me that crap about being the press - I know you know about me."

 

   Scully stared at him blankly.  "What?"

 

   "You ran a check on me last night," Mulder reminded her.  "You e-mailed Danny Vallodeio at the Bureau."

 

   Scully closed her eyes.  _God, I must be cracking up._   She hadn't remembered to check her e-mail that morning.

 

   "Danny's an old friend of mine," Mulder was saying.  "He mailed me straight after.  You'd be amazed what you can do with a Psion - "

 

   "I didn't check my mail today," Scully interrupted, "so I don't know what you're talking about."

 

   There was a pause, and when she opened her eyes, he was regarding her thoughtfully and with some sympathy.  "Didn't sleep well, huh?"

 

   It seemed pointless to deny it.  "Not really," she muttered.

 

   "And you didn't eat last night or have breakfast this morning."

 

   Scully gave him an outraged glare.  "I suppose you know the colour of my underwear as well," she remarked sarcastically.

 

   "Nah, you pulled your drapes too tight," Mulder chuckled. "Come on, get your stuff.  I'm buying you breakfast."

 

   "I don't - " she began, but he cut her off.

 

   "I mean it, Agent Scully.  Since you didn't read your mail this morning, I think we need to have a serious talk."

 

xXx

 

   In the end, the headed back to the motel.  When they got there, Scully made an excuse and stopped off at her motel room; and when she met up with Mulder in the restaurant twenty minutes later, her expression was grave and wary.

 

   "You read your mail."  It wasn't a question, and at her tight nod he sighed inwardly, even though he'd been expecting this reaction ever since he first spoke to her.  "Danny told me what he told you," he offered.  "We've been friends for a long time - we still talk sometimes, and when you started asking questions, he let me know.  I was surprised you hadn't already heard about me, to be honest."

 

   "He didn't tell me exactly why you were thrown out of the Bureau," Scully replied curtly.  "He said there was an internal investigation, though."

 

   "He didn't tell you because I wasn't thrown out: I resigned," Mulder replied.  There was a tense pause while the waitress took their orders.  When she was gone again, he looked at Scully, but she was avoiding his eyes.  "Danny couldn't tell you much anyway," he continued quietly.  "Most of the investigation was hushed up, and the details about my resignation are probably buried in my personnel file.  I wasn't forced to leave, though - I went voluntarily."

 

   "What difference does it make?" Scully demanded.

 

   "Actually, it makes a lot of difference.  But are you willing to listen?"

 

   There was a tense silence; then finally Scully sighed and nodded.  She leaned her forehead on one hand tiredly, and was surprised when Mulder shoved a packet of Advil towards her.  She looked up at him in and saw his faint smile. 

 

   "Most of the time I live on Advil and fresh air," he explained.

 

   "Thanks," she mumbled, and downed a couple of the pills dry.  Fortunately, the waitress chose to return at that moment with their orders; the black coffee did wonders to make her feel better, as did two toasted teacakes.  Mulder had chosen a cooked breakfast; when he saw her meagre portion, he shoved two of his slices of fried bread, all of his bacon and his second egg onto her plate.

 

   "Eat it!" he said firmly, when Scully protested.  "You didn't eat last night - two teacakes won't get you very far.  Besides, I've eaten once this morning already."

 

   Scully blinked, wondering where in his lean frame he'd put it all, but didn't argue.  She didn't normally eat fried stuff, but she had to admit that the bacon smelled pretty good.

 

   He grinned devilishly at her as she dug in.  "And I'm Jewish."

 

   Scully choked, making him laugh.

 

   "You realise the bread and bacon were probably fried together," she warned, when she'd got her breath back.

 

   Mulder shrugged.  "If you don't tell my mother, I won't," he smiled.  Seeing her brows rise, he explained, "Mom's pretty strict, but I don't bother much.  I eat kosher at home to please her, but I'm not religious myself."

 

   "You live with your mother?"

 

   "For now.  It's easier."

 

   There was a more comfortable silence while they both ate, then when Scully had finished, Mulder shoved his plate to one side and looked down into his empty coffee cup for a moment or two thoughtfully.  "The investigation wasn't into me really," he began abruptly.  "It was my wife."

 

   "I didn't realise you're married," Scully said, surprised.

 

   "Divorced.  I married an agent in Serious Fraud - we were old friends, we went to Oxford together.  It was a big mistake though."  Mulder kept his eyes on his cup.  "She started seeing other guys - and a lot of them were other agents - and then we separated."

 

   Scully began to feel uncomfortable.  "You don't have to tell me this."

 

   He looked up sharply.  "Yes I do.  Believe me, it's relevant - I wouldn't tell you otherwise."  He took a deep breath. "Anyway, after we'd been separated for a while, I got called in by the OPC and given the third degree.  What did I know about Phoebe's activities outside work hours, who were her friends, what guys had she been seeing - I had to give them a list.  Then they started asking about _me_ , about what I did outside work, who my friends were and what my relationship with Phoebe was.  They went into everything - and I do mean everything." 

 

   He took a shaky breath and, encouraged by Scully's startled and sympathetic silence, continued.  "So then they suspended her and confined me to office work pending the results of an internal investigation.  At that point, I didn't know what the hell was going on, which is probably the only thing that saved my neck, because the next thing I knew, I was called in by the Assistant Director and informed that Phoebe had vanished.  They'd been investigating her in connection with drugs and the Mafia.  They put me through the third degree again, this time with AD Skinner in attendance, and then I was put on paid suspension - not because they thought I'd done anything, but because they had to be seen to be taking all possible measures until they caught her.  But it was the worst thing they could have done from my point of view, because when I went home that afternoon, she was waiting for me."

 

   "What happened?" Scully asked after a moment.

 

   He looked up at her.  "I honestly don't know," he replied.  "I have no memory of that afternoon whatsoever - I woke up in Georgetown Medical Centre two days later.  My former partner, Jerry Castamir, had tried to raise me all evening and came round when he couldn't get a reply.  He found me in the bedroom, stoned out of my mind - they had to pump my stomach when they got me to hospital."

 

   Scully opened her mouth to say something, then saw his desperately uncomfortable expression, and shut it again.  There was a veiled warning in his eyes; this was obviously something he didn't want to discuss in too much detail.  "So then what happened?" she asked.

 

   "Oh, it was a mess.  There's no point in going into much detail, but basically when I was allowed to return to work, there was a big question-mark over my head.  Despite the evidence to the contrary, there was this idea in some people's heads that I'd maybe colluded with Phoebe after all, or that even if I hadn't, I knew where she was and I was holding back out of sentimental feelings for her."  His sudden smile was bitter, almost a sneer.  "Which is a joke, but  never mind.  I was working with Violent Crimes at that point; I was initially put on desk-work, and then side-lined into a low priority area of the Division.  But that involved field work, and some of the higher-ups still weren't happy with letting me out on my own, so they started talking about transferring me back into Behavioural Sciences and profiling, which is where I started out."

 

   Scully's brows drew together in a tiny frown.  "Profiling is a high prestige area," she observed cautiously.  "I was under the impression that there are only nine or ten profilers in the BSU at any one time."

 

   "It is," he nodded, "but what you probably don't know, because they make a point of keeping quiet about it, is that that most profilers are borderline basket-cases."  She looked at him, and he smiled back.  "It took a nervous breakdown and a three-month stay in a private psychiatric clinic - paid for by the Bureau, I might add - to convince me that I'd be better off being shot at by the perps while I worked for the VCS.  No way was I going back there.  Besides," and he looked down at his hands, "by that time there'd been a serious domestic complication which made leaving the Bureau a sensible move."

 

   He didn't elaborate, and Scully felt it would be tactless to ask.  "So you quit and started teaching instead?"

 

   He looked up and the smile was back, this time much more genuine.  "Yeah.  The journalism's a sideline - I've got friends who run a magazine, and now and then I do an article for them.  Makes life interesting."

 

   Scully smiled, but decided it was time they got back to the point.  "So what exactly's got you so interested in this case?"

 

   "Well, if you remember, I said I was pushed into a low-priority area of Violent Crimes for a while.  It's called the X Files Division."

 

   She stared; then rummaged in her briefcase and pulled out the case file.  The number - #X-1.01-091093 - stared up at her from the front of the large, heavy-duty manila envelope which held the file folder and other materials pertinent to the case.  "There's a significance to it being numbered "x"?"

 

   "Uh-huh."  Mulder dug out his bag of sunflower seeds, and fished one out, cracking it between his teeth and discarding the shell before continuing.  "The X files are all cases which were initially investigated by one department of the FBI or another, but were deemed unsolved because of unexplainable phenomena, and quietly stashed away in the basement.  Periodically, one will float to the surface again - like this one - and they assign someone to investigate it as a PR exercise."

 

   Scully began to feel a burning sensation of anger in her gut.  "A _PR exercise_?  But something really happened to those kids!"

 

   Mulder nodded, his eyes grave.  "That's the real issue for me, too.  The press got hold of the story, which is why the Bureau sent someone out here.  But in case you hadn't noticed, Agent Scully, the people here aren't exactly desperate to find out what happened.  If you really want to get something out of this, to close the case, you're going to have to move fast, because I can guarantee you that if you don't, in a couple of days you'll be recalled to Washington.  That's what happened to me."

 

   She looked up sharply, blue eyes questioning.  "You - ?"

 

   He nodded, smiling faintly.  "I was the last agent to investigate this case."

 

   "I was pulled off the case before I really got to do much in the way of interviews," Mulder continued.  He offered his bag of seeds to Scully, who took one rather absently.  "I got to see Peggy O'Dell and Billy Miles, though, and I saw the marks on Peggy's back."

 

   "Karen Swenson had them too," Scully told him, and pulled out the autopsy report. 

 

  

  1. "They turned up in the autopsy?  There was nothing on the others."   
  



 

   "Different medical examiner."

 

   He grinned at her dry tone.  "Ah, you share my opinion of the lovable Dr. Nemman.  Lovely daughter, by the way - if she wasn't as unstable as the rest of her classmates, she'd have a great future in the diplomatic corps."

 

   Scully looked up sharply.  "What do you mean?"

 

   He had the grace to look a little guilty, but not much.  "Let's just say I have a very long telephoto lens."

 

   "Bet you say that to all the girls," she retorted before she could stop herself, and received a chuckle and exaggerated leer for her pains.  "So how did you know about the marks on the other kids' backs?" she asked.

 

   "Well, when I investigated this case, I'd had the opportunity to go through a lot of the other X files, and I found several other cases which bore a remarkable similarity to the Bellefleur kids," he explained.  "If you're interested, you'll probably need to dig the files out of storage again, but I can give you the case numbers and Danny'll be able to help you.  Take a look at the analysis of those marks on Karen Swenson, though."

 

   Scully flipped hastily through the papers until the chemical analysis sheet surfaced.  Her eyes widened.  "What is _that_?"

 

   "You tell me."

 

   Scully considered.  "Well, it's organic, but it's nothing I've ever seen before.  Some sort of synthetic protein?"

 

   Mulder nodded cheerfully, inwardly delighted by the look of fascination on her face.  "Beats me, too.  And the Crime Labs at the Bureau when they saw it."  He considered telling her about how all the samples at the Bureau had mysteriously vanished, and his personal theories on the subject, but decided - reluctantly - that he didn't want to damage his credibility with her too soon. 

 

   At least she was really interested in solving the case - all the other agents previously involved had been only too happy to be recalled to Washington.

 

   Except for him, of course.

 

   "And this was present in all the other autopsies from the other cases?" she was saying.

 

   "Apparently."  Mulder helped himself to another seed.  "What are you going to do next?"

 

   Scully looked up, for the first time looking a little uncertain. "Well, I was going to interview the parents of the other victims first."

 

   He nodded.  "And then?"

 

   She gave him a thoughtful look.  "You sound like you don't think I'm going to find much out."

 

   "I didn't," he acknowledged, "but there's no saying that it might be different for you.  You're a woman - they may respond better to you." 

 

   He didn't sound convincing, and Scully sighed.  "Okay, maybe I won't find anything out, but it's what I'm expected to do - "

 

   "Do you always do what people expect?"

 

   She ignored that.  "And if I don't, there'll be questions asked when I return to Washington.  After that, though, I was planning to take a look in the woods, especially the crime scene.  I want to know what Karen Swenson was doing out there in her nightwear."

 

   "Good idea," Mulder approved.  He eyed her thoughtfully, before adding rather tentatively, "Like some company?"

 

   Scully hesitated.  They'd reached a truce, sure, and she was fairly certain at this point that he wasn't really here for the story, but she still wasn't sure exactly how to treat him.  He'd been out of the Bureau for a while, after all, and she was on official business. 

 

   "Look," she said finally, "what's your interest in this case?  Because if it's just journalistic - "

 

   "It's not," he said at once, interrupting her.  "I'm interested because I never got a chance to solve it myself, and I was curious to see if the Bureau really was reopening the case or just pacifying the press again."  His hazel eyes were earnest, fixing on Scully's and holding them in an attempt to convey his sincerity.  "And I genuinely want to know what happened to those kids.  I want to know why the agents sent here keep getting recalled before they can do anything, and why everyone seems to want to cover up what really happened, whatever that was."

 

   "Okay," Scully said, taking a deep breath, "okay.  But you've got to level with me, Mr. Mulder - "

 

   "Mulder," he corrected, smiling.

 

   She stared at him, momentarily distracted.

 

   "Mr. Mulder was my father," he explained, a little self-consciously."

 

   "What's wrong with your first name?" she demanded.

 

   "Look, if you had to go through high-school with a name like Fox, you'd be using your surname too," he retorted, and she smiled in spite of herself.

 

   "Okay, _Mulder_ \- level with me.  I know you must have some sort of theory about this case, and I want to know what it is."

 

   "I have plenty of theories, Agent Scully," he acknowledged reluctantly, "but I don't think you're ready to hear them."

 

   That earned him a raised brow and a look that told him to quit dancing around the subject.  "Try me," she suggested dryly.

 

   Okay.  She wasn't going to let it go, so maybe it was time to shock her out of her standardised FBI thinking.  And he admitted to himself that there was a tiny little devil inside him somewhere that was itching to see the look on her face.  "Tell me, Agent Scully - do you believe in the existence of extra-terrestrials?"

 

 _He's kidding me, right?_   Scully peered at him uncertainly, but although it was quite obvious from the quirky smile on his lips that he was teasing her, his eyes were dead serious.  _Extra-terrestrials, riiiight._   For no particular reason, the orange X on the road swam back into her mind.  "Logically, I would have to say no," she said finally.  "The distances from the far reaches of space are so vast, the energy needed alone would exceed - "

 

   "Conventional wisdom," Mulder interrupted impatiently.  "Agent Scully, Karen Swenson was the sixth kid in her class to die under mysterious circumstances.  Conventional wisdom has so far offered no explanations.  Now, if science doesn't have the answers, shouldn't we start looking towards the unconventional  - the fantastic - for answers instead?"

 

   Okay.  That almost sounded like a challenge to Scully, and it was one which, as a scientist, she couldn't ignore.  "What I find fantastic is that there are any answers which lie outside the realms of science," she retorted sharply.  "The answers are there, Mulder - you just have to know where to look."

 

   He sat back in his chair, with an unfathomable look on his face.  He didn't seem at all offended by her opposition - rather the reverse, as if he enjoyed arguing with her.  Finally, a wicked smile crossed his lips.  "Well - I'm told that's why they put the 'I' in FBI, Agent Scully.  What's your _scientific_ explanation of what happened to those kids?"

 

   Crunch time - and Scully had to admit that she didn't have even a working theory which was particularly plausible.  "I started out with the idea that maybe the kids in the class were taking some kind of drugs at that party in the woods," she admitted, wishing it didn't sound so feeble.  "It might explain the schizophrenia, and Billy Miles's condition, but - "

 

   "But it doesn't explain the deaths or the marks on their backs," Mulder finished for her, nodding.

 

   "No, or ...."  Scully hesitated, and he leaned forward, his eyes alert.

 

   "Or what?"

 

   She fished in her pocket reluctantly, and pulled out a small glass vial containing the two metal implants from Ray Soames's body.  "It doesn't explain these, or the condition of Ray Soames's corpse - if it *was* Ray Soames, which I doubt."

 

   Mulder took the vial from her fingers, and stared at the two bits of metal in fascination.  "Where were they?"

 

   "The small one was in the base of the neck, and the larger in the nasal cavity."

 

   A wild excitement began to build in Mulder's stomach.  This was more than he'd ever hoped to find.  "Do you know what they are?"

 

   Scully shook her head, viewing his obvious delight dubiously.  "No - do you?"

 

   He shook his head cheerfully.  "Not a clue.  I wonder what they're made of?"

 

   "That's for the Bureau crime labs to find out," Scully said, firmly taking possession of the objects again, and stowing them safely back in her pocket.

 

   "And what did you make of Ray Soames?" Mulder prodded.

 

   "I didn't," she replied shortly.  "That body was someone's idea of a sick joke, Mulder - it's probably the corpse of an ape or something similar."

 

   "Sure about that?"

 

   "No," Scully snapped, nettled, "but the crime labs will be."  She started packing all her bits and pieces back into her briefcase.

 

   He nodded, apparently accepting this.  "And how's the head?"

 

   Scully paused, and in spite of herself she softened a little.  "Better, thanks, much better," she admitted, with a small wry smile.

 

   "So, are you going to head out and start questioning the good citizens of Bellefleur?"

 

   She grimaced.  "'Fraid so."

 

   Mulder nodded.  "Best of luck," he said dryly.  "The Advil's with me, when you've finished."

 

xXx

 

   It was just beginning to get dark when Scully finally returned to the motel, and she felt drained, frustrated, and short-tempered.  What was the matter with the people in this town?  Six of their kids were dead, one was a vegetable, and a number of others were suffering serious psychiatric disorders.  Any normal town would be screaming at the Bureau's doors, demanding answers.

 

   Not the good citizens of Bellefleur.  They were keeping their collective mouth shut tighter than a rusted lock.

 

   Mulder was waiting for her outside her motel room door, but as she'd been expecting that, she wasn't particularly surprised.  He was wearing a sympathetic expression and holding the bottle of Advil, which she waved aside wearily.

 

   "No, it's okay, thanks. I'm just tired - I could do with a coffee though." 

 

   He produced the other hand, which held a bag containing a thermos flask and something else.  "Coffee and sandwiches," he said, watching her dump her briefcase and jacket on the bed.  "Are you going to get changed?"

 

   She looked at him blankly.  "What for?"

 

   "Our trip to the forest," he reminded her.  "The crime scene - remember?"

 

   "Oh, that.  The area's on private land, so I've arranged for an official search warrant for tomorrow."

 

   "Yeah, I tried that too," Mulder nodded, "and the next day all that was waiting for me were orders to ship back to DC.  Case closed."

 

   Scully closed her eyes.  _God, I hate this case_.  She wished she had some shred of evidence which would prove him wrong, but the attitude of the sheriff when she spoke of getting a warrant told her all she needed to know.  "Mulder, it's going to be dark by the time we get there," she protested feebly.

 

   His response was to produce two high-powered torches.  "I'll say this for Bellefleur - they have a really good hardware store," he commented cheerfully.

 

xXx

 

   Wandering around the forest, torch in hand, Scully wondered when exactly she had started seeing Mulder as some sort of unofficial partner on this case.  The man was nuts, no doubt about it.  He was an ex-FBI agent, and despite the fact that she believed his story, she still had no real evidence to substantiate it.  If her superiors found out she'd been working with him on this case - especially since he was a self-confessed freelance journalist - she'd almost certainly be in hot water.  And on top of that, she'd allowed him to talk her into searching a site which was on private property, where she had no business being without a search warrant, and he had no business being, period.

 

   Yet here they were, searching the forest in classic FBI style, one partner taking one half of the site, and the other partner taking the other half.

 

   Something told Agent Scully that ex-Agent Mulder missed his old job more than he would admit.

 

   Seeing a large clearing ahead, she increased her pace, pushing through the undergrowth eagerly.  After all, the sooner she found what she was looking for, the sooner they could get out of here.  Breaking through into the clearing, she played the torch around her, trying to get a decent look at the place.

 

   It was bigger than she had originally imagined from the crime reports, some thirty or forty paces at the widest point, and the ground appeared to have been cleared of all vegetation.  Scully scuffed at the earth beneath her boots, and was interested to note that it seemed to be deeply scorched all over.  Crouching down to get a better look, she picked up a sample of the surface and peered at it - fine grey-ish ash.  Not having any evidence bags on her person, she finally shrugged and put a reasonable handful in one pocket for later analysis.

 

   As she stood up, another torch flashed directly in her eyes, making her flinch.  "Mulder, is that you?" she demanded.

 

   But it wasn't Mulder.  It was the sheriff, and when he spoke his tone was distinctly hostile.

 

   "Just what exactly do you think you're doing on private property at this hour, ma'am?"

 

xXx

 

   Scully flung her torch into the trunk of the Taurus under the watchful eye of the sheriff, and strode hastily around the driver's door, biting her lip angrily.  She wondered where the hell Mulder was, but daren't wait to find out.  As far as the sheriff was concerned, she was out here on her own; and she wanted it to remain that way for both their sakes.

 

   She started up the car and set off down the road, wondering what to do about the journalist.  She couldn't just leave him here, miles from anywhere -

 

   "Did he chew you out?"

 

   Scully let out a muffled shriek and the car almost swerved.  " _JESUS CHRIST_ , don't do that to me!"

 

   "Sorry," Mulder said, quite unrepentantly, hanging over the back of the passenger seat.  "I keep forgetting you're the nervous type."

 

   "Two days in your company would drive any woman insane!" Scully snarled, furious.

 

   "Ooooh.  And we hardly know each other ... yet."  Mulder grinned at her, and rummaged in a pocket, producing a packet which he thrust in front of her.  "Seeds?"

 

   At which point, Scully lost it completely and told him, with great medical precision, exactly what he could do with his seeds, and his torches, and his theories of extra-terrestrial abductions.  And where he could do it, and with what parts of his body.  It took several minutes, and impressed Mulder no end.

 

   "Feeling better?" he asked, at the end of it.

 

   "Yes," she grumbled, wondering if he was completely insensate.

 

   "I'm sorry I startled you, but I thought I ought to play least in sight, just in case he wasn't aware I was with you."

 

   "Well, I think he was suspicious, but he couldn't prove you were around, so it was probably a good idea," she conceded wearily.

 

   "I didn't find anything," Mulder continued.  "What about you?"

 

   "Hm.  I'm not sure."  Scully dug in her pocket, and found some of the ash, which she passed back to him.  "There was this - the clearing where they found Karen Swenson was covered in it, as though the entire area had been subjected to intense, localised heat."

 

   While he was examining the gritty sample, she flicked on the windscreen wipers.  It had started to rain as she and the sheriff had emerged from the forest, and now it was threatening to become a downpour.  _Just what we needed,_ she thought sourly.  _Rain to cap off a perfect investigation._

 

  "Well, what do you think?" she demanded, when Mulder didn't voice an opinion of the sample.

 

   Mulder wasn't looking at the ash; he'd got a small compass in the palm of his hand and was staring at it like it held the secret of the Holy Grail.  "Scully, try the radio," he told her distractedly.

 

   _Scully?_   Oh well, he couldn't really call her Dana; they weren't well enough acquainted.  She reached out and fumbled with the knobs until the radio hissed and screeched into life.

 

   The abrupt high-pitched squeal it emitted made her flinch and protest, and Mulder jumped but didn't react otherwise.  He was still staring at his compass, the needle swinging and jumping erratically.

 

   "Mulder, what's going on?" Scully demanded, her face screwed up painfully against the radio noise which refused to get any lower despite her frantic twisting of the volume control.  "Mulder ...?"

 

   There was an abrupt flash of glaring white light, and the car died, sliding to a halt in the middle of the road.

 

xXx

 

   For a moment there was silence.  Then Scully broke it, her voice tense with the many strains of the day.  "What the hell was that?"

 

   "We lost power," Mulder replied.  His voice was tense too, but for an entirely different reason.  "Everything cut out."

 

   "But what was that flash?"

 

   He wasn't listening.  Instead he was staring at his watch.  "We lost nine minutes."

 

   "What?!"  Scully was getting more than a little tired of all this.

 

   But when he looked up at her, Mulder's eyes were glowing with excitement.  "We lost nine minutes, Scully!  _Nine minutes!_  I checked my watch just before the flash."  And he was out of the car  and into the pouring rain before she could pummel her brain into framing a question.

 

   There was nothing to do but follow him, so she did, and found him standing a few yards in front of the car, staring raptly down at the road.

 

   "Look at this!" he shouted to her over the noise of the hammering rain.  Scully obediently looked.

 

   And froze, wide-eyed.

 

   Between them, glowing amiably in the meagre moonlight, was a bright orange X spray-painted on the asphalt.

 

   "Nine minutes!" Mulder yodelled jubilantly.  "Oh YES, thank you, God!"  He seized her shoulders, obviously sensing her confusion.  "Abductees, Scully, and people who've made sightings of UFOs - they all report strange time loss."

 

   "But - "  This was all getting too much for Scully.  "But time doesn't just disappear, Mulder!  It's a universal invariant -"

 

   As if to make a liar of her, the car engine abruptly started up again of its own accord, and the headlights flashed on.

 

   Mulder burst out into excited laughter.  "Not in this zipcode!"

 

xXx

 

   The relief Scully felt at being back in her normal, dingy little motel room was too great to be measured.  Stripping off her sodden out layer of clothes, she wrapped herself in a towelling robe, roughly dried her hair, then forced herself to methodically set out her job again; retrieving the last soggy handful of ash from her coat pocket and putting in an evidence bag for analysis, and setting up her laptop to continue her field report.

 

   This was all getting way to weird for her.  She needed something normal to cling onto, something that definitely wasn't tainted by Mulder and his theories, and with that in mind she set about trying to put the evening's unauthorised venture onto the crime scene into some form her superiors wouldn't suspend her for. 

 

   Which was just about when Fate decided things were getting to easy for her, and the lights decided to cut out.

 

   Scully stifled an unprofessional and almost hysterical scream of frustration.  What was it with this hateful little backwater of a town, with its psycho kids, and Stepford-like residents, and its own personal time zones, and its power outages of one form or another?

 

   She rummaged around for a while, wishing she'd remembered to retrieve her torch from the trunk of the car before she came to her room, and finally found a chunky stub of a candle.  Okay, so she wasn't meant to finish her report - or at least, not if she wanted to have any eyesight left at the end of it.  She could at least maybe have a shower.

 

   Taking the candle into the bathroom with her, Scully set it down in a reasonably safe spot, pulled the curtain across and set the shower going.  Then she slipped her robe off, and was pinning her hair up out of the way when she thought she saw something.

 

   Twisting her upper body about so that she could see her back in the mirror, Scully finally gave way to the pressures of the case and screamed.

 

xXx

 

   Scully was fumbling frantically with the ties of her bathrobe when there was a loud hammering on her door.

 

   Her nerves were completely shot, her hands shaking violently. Where had she put her gun?  She rummaged around the bedroom blindly, wishing desperately for lights.  The candle had gone out while she was flailing around in the bathroom.

 

   More hammering.  "Scully, are you okay?  What's going on? Scully!"

 

   Mulder. 

 

   Scully gave up the search for her weapon, and stumbled to the door, yanking it open.  Mulder almost fell inside.

 

   "Scully, what the hell - did you scream?"

 

   "Yes, I ...."  She pushed her hair back with a trembling hand.  "Look, I need you to look at something for me."

 

   He stared, concerned at how pale her face was.  "Sure.  Let me put the lights on a second."

 

   She looked at him blankly, then registered the fact that he was in running shorts and a sweatshirt, and looking flushed and sweaty.  He must have been out running when the power went out.  "There's been a power-cut, but I've got a candle in the bathroom - "

 

   Mulder didn't look particularly surprised.  He retrieved the candle and lit it.  "Okay, what's up?"

 

   Scully hesitated, then turned her back to him and dropped the robe.  "Look," she said over her shoulder, and gestured to her lower back, "what are they?"

 

   Mulder was seriously grateful that she was at the wrong angle to get a good look at his face, for he was sure it must be a picture.  All the air had suddenly escaped his lungs, and something in his stomach  began jigging about nervously.  Somehow he forced himself to crouch down and bring the candle closer to the spot she was pointing at just above - he swallowed convulsively - the elastic of her oyster-coloured silk panties.

 

   There were three small raised lumps standing out in relief from an expanse of smooth, creamy skin.

 

   Mulder was just about successful in preventing himself from using them as an excuse to touch her.  He swallowed again.  This was not a good situation for him to be in, as a small but vocal and rational part of his mind kept pointing out.

 

   "Mulder, what _are_ they?"

 

   Her voice, raised and panicky, managed to snap his attention back into focus, and he grinned in spite of himself.  "Mosquito bites," he said, straightening up again.

 

   "Are you sure?" Scully quavered, beginning to pull her robe back around herself.

 

   Something inside Mulder bade a mournful goodbye to the vision of velvet skin in oyster satin, but he ruthlessly stamped it down.  "Yeah - I got eaten alive myself out there," he began nonchalantly - and staggered slightly when Scully abruptly flung herself into his arms.  She was shaking like a leaf.  He awkwardly rubbed her shoulders, trying to rein in his galloping hormones.

 

 _Control, dammit, control._    "Are you okay?" he asked, and was amazed at how calm his voice sounded.

 

   Scully suddenly realised what she was doing, and began to extricate herself.  "Yeah - yeah, I'm fine.  I just - need to sit down for a minute."

 

   He steered her towards the edge of the bed.  "Take your time."

 

   She nodded and sat, drawing her feet up under her and pulling the top blanket over her lap, while Mulder dragged a solid wooden chair by the window closer and straddled it.

 

   "Are you cold?" she asked, belatedly remembering that he was only half-dressed too.

 

   Cold?  At any other time, Mulder might have laughed.  God, he was anything but cold right now - in fact, it might justifiably be argued that he had a serious case of hot.

 

   "No - no, I'm fine," he managed.  His eye fell on a white plastic bag propped against the table where Scully's laptop was set up, and he suppressed a sigh of relief.  At last - a neutral, harmless topic.  "You know, we never did drink that coffee, or eat - do you think it's still hot?" 

 

xXx

 

   "How'd you end up in Violent Crimes, Scully?"

 

   She blinked at him through the thin steam of her coffee.  "Haven't you started in the middle there?"  Mulder tilted his head on one side questioningly, and Scully smiled.  "The usual question is 'how'd you end up in the FBI, Scully?'", she explained.

 

   He smiled back.  "Okay.  How'd you end up in the FBI, Scully?"

 

   "Post-adolescent contrariness.  My parents wanted me to be a paediatrician, but I wanted to be a pathologist.  We had a major bust-up about it, and I went my own way - for the first time ever, I might add - and the Bureau recruited me out of college."  Scully looked down at her mug thoughtfully.  "It seemed like a really good idea - I thought I'd be able to distinguish myself there.  So ... I taught at Quantico after I graduated.  Dad still wasn't happy about it, but he didn't mind so much.  And it felt right for me."

 

   Mulder noticed the wistful tone in her voice.  "You liked teaching."

 

   She nodded.  "And it was interesting when I actually got called to do autopsies."

 

   "That's one word for it," he commented wryly, and she chuckled.

 

   "Each to his own."

 

   "So how did you end up in Violent Crimes?"

 

   Scully fell silent.  This was territory she'd rather not go over, or at least not in any detail.  "I asked for a transfer," she replied evasively.

 

   "Got bored at Quantico?" he hazarded.  He fished around in the plastic bag and found a packet of sandwiches.  They looked a bit dry and sad after all those hours, but he shrugged and unwrapped them anyway.  Like most single men, food quality was not a big issue with him.

 

   "No, I ... had a few problems with a fellow instructor, and in the end it seemed better to move on.  And I wanted to move into field work anyway," she added quickly.

 

   Mulder apparently accepted this, to her relief.  "Can't imagine your father being happy about you working in the VCS, though.  My mom nearly went through the roof when I transferred."  He grinned briefly.  "Just as well she didn't know what I did in Behavioural Sciences."

 

   Scully smiled.  "Dad's just overprotective.  He doesn't come out and say it, but the FBI is no place for a woman."

 

   Mulder's face changed ever so slightly in the dim candlelight. "You're lucky," he said after a moment.  "Have you got brothers and sisters?"

 

   "Two brothers, one older, one younger, and an older sister," she nodded.  "What about you?"

 

   The sandwich lost its appeal.  "I had a younger sister," Mulder said after a moment.

 

   Scully didn't miss the past tense.  "What happened to her?" she asked quietly.

 

   "Died in a car crash when she was eight."  Mulder looked up at Scully, and his half-smile was bitter.  "My father was driving - he was drunk.  Still is, I should imagine.  A drunk, I mean."

 

   "Oh."  Scully looked down at her mug, saddened for him.  He didn't seem to have much luck in his life.  "I'm sorry.  You must miss her."

 

   "Yeah."  Mulder re-wrapped what was left of the sandwich and tossed it back into the bag.  "But it was a long time ago and I can't change what happened."

 

   The silence which followed this was abruptly ruptured by the phone ringing.

 

   Scully leaned over and picked it up, listening for a couple of minutes.  When she put it down again, her face was grim.

 

   "Peggy O'Dell is dead."

 

XXX

 

   "Who was on the phone?" Mulder demanded, as Scully started the car.

 

   "I don't know - whoever it was was disguising their voice," she replied.  "Apparently Peggy was found dead at a railroad crossing in the forest." 

 

   "You know, this could just be a ruse to pull you away from the motel," Mulder pointed out.

 

   "What for?" she demanded.

 

   "I don't know - to grab your stuff, or the evidence maybe.  It's just a thought."

 

   "So stop thinking," she advised him tartly.  "If it bothers you that much, why did you come with me?"

 

   "Must be your overwhelming charm."

 

   The crossing was a sea of squad cars when they arrived.  There was a freight train halted on the tracks, and police swarming around it.

 

   Scully groaned softly.

 

   "What's up?" Mulder asked.

 

   "That's the sheriff.  I'm sure he's going to be delighted to see me again tonight."

 

   He sized up the situation, and came to a decision.  "Look, the paramedics are still here, so it looks like they haven't moved the body yet.  I'll cause a diversion, while you slip around the side and take a look."

 

   "What are you going to do?" Scully demanded, alarmed.

 

   His grin as he grabbed the door handle was not reassuring.  "Scully, surely you know how popular the press are at crime scenes?"  And he was gone.

 

   Cursing him softly, Scully waited until she saw him jog up to the sheriff and brazenly demand his attention, then slipped out of the car and skirted around the squad cars.

 

   Mulder was right; Peggy O'Dell's body was still lying across the tracks, although someone had covered her decently with a blanket.  The paramedics were just laying a body-bag out on a stretcher for her. 

 

   Scully touched the nearest one on the shoulder and flashed her ID.  "What happened here?"

 

   The woman shook her head sadly.  "The girl just walked out onto the tracks.  Train never had a chance to stop."

 

   Scully's eyes widened.  " _Walked?_ "

 

   The paramedic looked puzzled.  "That's right."

 

   "But this girl was in a wheelchair when I saw her this morning.  This _is_ Peggy O'Dell, isn't it?"

 

   The woman shrugged.  "Beats me.  But there's no wheelchair around here, Miss, and from the condition of her feet, it looks like she walked a fair distance barefoot."

 

   "Do you mind if I take a look?" Scully asked, and the paramedic nodded.

 

   "Make it quick, though - we've got to bag her and take her to the morgue."

 

   She knelt down by the side of the body, dimly aware of Mulder's  voice in the background, upraised in argument with someone.  She tuned it out and gently drew back the blanket.  It was definitely Peggy O'Dell, although she had suffered terrible injuries.  The girl was dressed in a nightdress - _Like Karen Swenson,_ Scully thought - and the paramedic was right; Peggy's feet were coated in dirt and scraped, as though she had walked over a rough surface.

 

   She noticed something else.  Peggy was wearing a watch.  Scully gently turned the cold wrist until she could see the cracked face.  The digital display had frozen at 9:03.

 

   "Excuse me, we've got to take her now," the paramedic reminded her.  Scully stepped back, and let them zipper the body up and carry it away to the waiting ambulance.

 

   There was some significance to 9:03, but she couldn't put her finger on what. 

 

   An escalation in the arguing voices, followed by a scuffle, snapped her back to the present; Mulder was in the process of being forcibly removed from the scene.  Scully quickly scooted back around the squad cars, and slid into the passenger seat moments after he'd hopped in the driver's side.

 

   "Find anything?" he asked at once, apparently unabashed by the violence with which he'd been ejected from the sheriff's presence.  He started up the car and reversed back out onto the main road.

 

   "Other than the fact that Peggy O'Dell walked all the way to the crossing and out in front of the train in her nightdress?" Scully replied.

 

   "Without her wheelchair?"  Mulder sounded interested, but not especially surprised.  "What else?"

 

   "Her watch was frozen at 9:03."

 

   _That_ was almost productive of a swerve.  "Seriously?"  He sounded genuinely excited, and Scully's brow furrowed.

 

   "Yes.  What's the significance?"

 

   "It was 9:03 when the car cut out on us on the road tonight," Mulder replied.  "I checked my watch just before the flash - remember?"

 

   "I repeat: what's the significance?"

 

   "How should I know?  But it's interesting, don't you think?"

 

   Scully didn't think she could answer that one in good conscience, so she ignored it.  "So, did you find out anything?" she asked dryly.

 

   "Actually, I did," he replied, grinning at her tone.  "While the good sheriff was bawling me out, I overheard one of the local boys answering a call from the Coroner.  Apparently the civic offices - including the Coroner's office - got trashed tonight by person or persons unknown."

 

   "Let me guess," Scully said tiredly.  "The paperwork on Ray Soames's body is gone."

 

   "No idea, but it's a good bet."

 

   "Then it's a good thing I got the body itself packed and sent off to the crime labs yesterday.  With copies of all the relevant paperwork."

 

   Any comments Mulder might have had were stalled by the scene that met their eyes as they pulled up at the motel.  The place resembled the scene they had just left, with one major difference - the squad cars were replaced by fire engines. 

 

   The motel was a mass of flames.

 

xXx

 

   Scully was sat on the low wall enclosing the motel's parking lot when Mulder found her.  He'd been talking to a couple of the fire-fighters.

 

   "They think it's arson," he told her, taking a seat beside her.

 

   Scully nodded morosely.  "Of course."  She watched the flames for a while, then turned to look at him.  "You guessed this would happen, didn't you?"

 

   Mulder rubbed his chin, a little embarrassed.  "Actually, I thought they might trash your room.  This," he waved at the burning building, "is going a hell of a lot further than I expected.  They really want to stop this investigation bad."

 

   "You realise all the portable evidence - my report and laptop, the case file and the crime scene photos - were all in there."

 

   "Yeah, but at least you weren't."  Scully's eyes widened, and Mulder smiled faintly.  "Hopefully they wouldn't have gone that far," he added, although in his own mind he was none too sure.

 

   The sheriff hadn't known Scully was with him at the railroad crossing.  And Mulder felt fairly certain that the sheriff had a good idea what was going on in Bellefleur.

 

   "So, what next?"  It was a rhetorical question, for Scully's main concern was finding a bed for the rest of the night, but unfortunately for her, Mulder had an answer.

 

   "Next we talk to Dr. Nemman's daughter."

 

   "Huh?"  Scully blinked, and followed his gaze.  Standing a few metres away was the drooping figure of the County Medical Officer's daughter.

 

xXx

 

   "Was it you who called Agent Scully?" Mulder asked the girl, over a coffee in the nearby diner.

 

   Theresa nodded mutely, cupping her hands around the coffee mug as though she were chilled, despite the heat of the room.  She was dark haired and eyed, and would have been a pretty girl had it not been for her almost anorexic thinness and the dark circles around her eyes.  She had a slightly unkempt look about her too; although her clothes were obviously good quality and expensive, they were rumpled and too big for her, her hair was lank and her skin dull.

 

   And she was obviously scared, of someone or something unknown.

 

   "How did you find out about Peggy, Theresa?" Scully asked.

 

   The girl seemed to shrink in on herself.  "I heard my dad talking about it to someone on the phone," she replied.

 

   "Do you know who that was?"

 

   "Sheriff Miles ... I think."

 

   Well, that made sense.  "What made you call and tell me, though?" Scully wanted to know.

 

   Theresa's eyes filled with tears.  "Because I didn't think they'd tell you about her until it was too late," she said, "and because I don't want it to be me next.  I want you to make it stop."

 

   Mulder leaned forward on his elbows, regarding her thoughtfully.  "Theresa, what is "it"?  Can you tell us what happened to your class in the woods that night?"

 

   She shook her head, fumbling in her jacket pocket for a handkerchief.  Scully silently offered her a couple of paper tissues.  "I don't remember, really I don't.  We were just having a party, then there was this really bright light, and then I woke up in hospital."

 

   "And the others were the same?"

 

   She nodded.  "All except Billy.  He never woke up at all."

 

   "What about Peggy?" Scully asked quietly.  "Was she always in a wheelchair?"

 

   Theresa began to cry harder.  "No - no, she was worse.  There was something wrong with her, and they took her away for months.  And when she came back, she couldn't walk.  My cousin said she'd had a baby, but something had gone wrong, something weird, and the baby had died."

 

   Scully saw Mulder's eyes widen in interest, but mercifully he didn't question the girl any further on that point.  For herself, she felt reasonably certain that the baby story was just one of the horror tales teenagers liked to pass around when one of their number had anything odd happen to them.  It was more likely that Peggy had suffered a back injury during whatever had happened at the party.  Maybe.  Scully wished she could shake off that one niggling doubt at the back of her mind.

 

   A choked cry from the girl snapped Scully's attention back on her.  There was blood pouring from Theresa's nose.

 

   "Mulder, get some napkins!" she exclaimed, dragging the last couple of tissues from her pocket and trying to staunch the flow.  In the scramble to help the girl, neither she nor Mulder heard the door to the diner swing open.

 

   "I'll take care of this, thank you," Dr. Nemman's sharp angry voice said.

 

xXx

 

   Scully slumped back into the moulded plastic diner seat, and contemplated her third coffee.  She glanced at her watch; 2:34.  God, it didn't seem possible that it could still be so early, after such an action-packed night. 

 

   Their talk with Theresa Nemman had wrapped up quickly after her father's arrival.  He had been accompanied by the sheriff, whom Scully had fast taken an unswerving dislike to.  Between them, they'd ushered the resisting girl out of the diner without saying much to Scully and Mulder, but the sheriff's parting words had stung her.

 

   "You should be more discriminating in the company you keep, Agent Scully," he had said, casting a venomous look at an unimpressed Mulder.

 

   "I am," she'd retorted.  "That's why I'm getting out of this town as soon as possible."

 

   But the words had annoyed her all the same.  They'd been a threat.  _Well don't you worry, Sheriff Miles,_ she thought sourly.  _When AD Skinner sees my report, Mulder's presence will be the least of his concerns._

 

   "Here," a voice said at her shoulder.  Scully looked up and found Mulder offering her some sort of cake in a plastic wrapper.  It was covered in sticky chocolate topping, and looked disgustingly calorific.  "Sorry it's not homebaked lasagne with a crisp side-salad, but this place isn't as well-stocked as their hardware store," he added.

 

   "Thanks," she smiled.  She made a mental apology to her bathroom scales and tore the wrapper off.  To hell with the calories; she needed food.  Mulder slid into the seat opposite and dug into his just as heartily.  "You know," Scully said after a moment, swiping futilely at a rim of chocolate sauce on her upper lip, "I don't think I've seen you stop eating yet."

 

   He looked up and grinned.  "I've got used to eating and sleeping at odd times," he told her.  "You know, I've been thinking about Theresa's nosebleed.  Do you think - "

 

   "It could have been caused by an implant like the one in Ray Soames's nose?" Scully finished for him.  "Please, I'm trying not to think of that."

 

   "It's logical, though."

 

   "Well, there's no way of finding out short of an x-ray, and if you think Dr. Nemman's going to let us come within fifty yards of her again, you're even crazier than I first thought."

 

   Mulder paused and lowered his cake.  "You think I'm crazy?"

 

   Scully sighed and leaned her head on one hand.  "No," she admitted, "I don't.  But I think this entire town is certifiable."

 

   Mulder shrugged.  "Select members of it, maybe.  But I think the rest are mostly scared - so scared that they'd rather risk pissing off the FBI rather than face up to what's going on."

 

   Scully fiddled with her discarded cake wrapper.  "What do you think of that story she spun us about Peggy O'Dell having a baby?"

 

   "I don't know," he said honestly, "but it's not the first time I've heard a story like that, so I can't just discount it as teenage hysteria.  There are cases in the X files of perfectly rational adult God-fearing women who claim to have been abducted by aliens and impregnated by them.  And they also tell of being whisked away afterwards by persons unknown, only to return months later with no knowledge of where they've been, but with the foetus missing.  Doctors put it down to post-abortion trauma, but I find that unlikely when so many women in so many different places should all have had identical experiences."  Mulder studied Scully's uncertain face, and reached across to squeeze her hand reassuringly.  "Look, I'm not asking you to believe all of this - I'm just asking you to keep an open mind."

 

   "Okay."  Scully took a deep breath, and smiled at him weakly.  "Quite frankly though, Mulder, I don't know where else I can take this investigation.  Most of the evidence is gone, and I've already hit a dead end with witnesses.  And something tells me that I'll be getting instructions to fly back to Washington tomorrow, if the sheriff has his way."

 

   Mulder was about to admit that they were probably defeated, when an idea struck him.  "Most of the evidence is gone," he said slowly, "but there might be one last place to look ...."

 

   Scully's brows rose in confusion.  "What do you mean?"

 

   But he was already getting to his feet, and searching in his pockets for the car keys.  "Come on!"

 

xXx

 

   "Oh my God," Scully said blankly.

 

   They were back at the cemetery, not far from where Ray Soames's grave had been exhumed only the day before.  The grave this time was that of the other high school kid Scully had taken out an exhumation order on ... and it looked like someone had finally executed her original instructions.

 

   The grave had been dug up, and the coffin thrown out.  The body was missing.

 

   "This is sick," she said angrily, but Mulder was shaking his head.

 

   "No, it makes sense, Scully.  It's the last piece of evidence, if you don't count Peggy, Billy and Theresa.  Someone's making sure you don't get a look another of their dead kids."

 

   "But who the hell would do this?" she protested.  "These are their own kids!  I swear to God, if I find out it was Nemman or Sheriff Miles who did this - "

 

   But Mulder was shaking his head.  "Can't have been.  We know where both of them were - Miles was at the railway crossing, and Nemman was at home, because Theresa saw him take the phonecall about Peggy O'Dell."

 

   "Okay - then maybe it was the Coroner, Truit!"

 

   "And he was in town," he reminded her.  "The offices were trashed, remember?"  There was an excited look about Mulder, though.

 

   "I give up," Scully sighed.  "You obviously have some idea who it was.  Who?"

 

   "Billy Miles."

 

   Scully looked at him.  "Billy Miles the vegetable, who hasn't so much as twitched in God knows how long."

 

   Mulder nodded, his enthusiasm undampened.

 

   "I take it back.  You're crazy," she informed him.

 

   "No I'm not, Scully.  Think about it - Peggy O'Dell, who hadn't walked in over three years, somehow walked nearly ten miles unaided out to the railway line tonight and threw herself under a train.  If she could do that, despite being paralysed from the waist down, why shouldn't Billy be able to get up and about?"

 

   Scully could think of a number of answers, but something told her that Mulder wouldn't be listening.  "There's one way to find out," she said reluctantly.

 

xXx

 

   "If Billy had moved," the orderly informed Mulder flatly, "believe me, I would have known about it.  They pay me extra to keep a very close watch on this boy, just in case he ever does move.  But trust me, it ain't going to happen."

 

   "So you always look after Billy?" Mulder asked.  "You would have been here at 9:00?"

 

   The orderly paused.  "I would have been at the nurses' station, watching TV," she admitted.

 

   "Do you remember what was on?"

 

   Another pause.  That one had got her.  "Well ...."

 

   Scully wasn't listening to this exchange.  She had briskly flipped up the sheets at the end of the bed while Mulder was distracting the woman, and was examining Billy's feet.  And what she found disturbed her.

 

   The boy's bare feet were covered in dirt, just like Peggy O'Dell's.

 

   Which was impossible.

 

xXx

 

   Mulder caught up with Scully out in the corridor.  "Scully, where are you going?"

 

   "I don't know," she replied tensely.

 

   "What did you find?"

 

   "Dirt.  The same dirt that was on Peggy O'Dell's feet.  They were both out in the forest tonight, Mulder.  But that's impossible."

 

   Mulder caught hold of Scully's arm and gently pulled her to a halt.  She wouldn't look him in the eye and he recognised the wooden expression on her face; this case wasn't just calling her beliefs into question, it was tearing the whole system of them apart.  And she didn't like it one bit.

 

   He sympathised entirely.  "Look Scully, I know this is hard to take, but you've got to hang in there just a little longer."

 

   "Why?" she demanded.  God, she felt exhausted to her marrow.

 

   "Think about what you just said," Mulder urged.

 

   "I don't understand ...."

 

   "Yes, you do.  They both had dirt on their feet from walking in the forest."

 

   Scully paused.  Dirt from the forest ....  She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out the last pinch of the ash she'd picked up from the Swenson crime scene hours earlier.  She smeared it across her palm ... it was black and gritty, like the dirt on Billy Miles's feet.  She looked up at Mulder, sudden comprehension flooding her eyes.  "They were both out at the crime scene tonight."

 

   "I think we should take another look," Mulder nodded, relieved beyond measure to see the animation returning to her face.

 

   "But won't the sheriff or Dr. Nemman have cleaned it up by now?"

 

   "They've been busy bees tonight, Scully, but hopefully they won't have had time yet - or they won't think we've made the connection."

 

xXx

 

 _Good thing we left the torches in the car,_ Scully thought absently, as they made a careful approach towards the crime scene through the forest.  This time they stuck together, mostly because only Scully was armed ("Had to give up my Sig when I left the Bureau," Mulder had said wryly).  It was a good thing she'd remembered to strap on the holster when they left the motel earlier, too - especially considering the hell she would have to pay for losing the laptop.

 

   Funny how expense reports went through your mind at a time like this.

 

   Mulder halted suddenly, and Scully almost ran into him.  "What's wrong?" she hissed.

 

   "Look at this," he hissed back and crouched down.  There was a bare patch of mud in front of him, with a faint imprint of a foot in it, half washed away by the earlier rain.  A bare foot.

 

   Scully squatted down to take a closer look.  "It's a woman's," she said.  "Peggy O'Dell's?"

 

   "Who knows.  But at least we're heading in the right direction - I was beginning to wonder.  The trouble with this forest is it all looks the same."

 

   "What happened to your compass?"

 

   "It got a little scorched."

 

   They carried on, and few minutes later came to the clearing.

 

   "More footprints," Scully observed softly.  "Bare, both male and female.  What were they doing out here?"

 

   "Looking for Peggy's 'light' maybe."  Mulder paused, and raised his head, listening.  "Scully, did you hear something?"

 

   Scully listened.  Nothing.  She opened her mouth to say so, when something hit her hard in the middle of her back, sending her flying into the rain-sodden dirt.  She hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of her, and saw a pair of bare feet hurtling past her.

 

   "HEY!" Mulder yelled.

 

   The figure ran off into the forest at a seemingly impossible speed for someone who was barefoot, and Mulder gave chase.  Scully dragged herself upright with an effort, spitting dirt out, and tried to follow them more slowly.  She could see Mulder's torch bobbing ahead of her somewhere, but it soon became obvious that she wasn't going to catch up, and she turned back to the clearing.

 

 _This really is a pig of a case,_ she thought sourly, no longer capable of surprise.  Then she noticed something strange.

 

   There was a light coming from the clearing.

 

 _What the ...?_

 

   Scully quickened her speed to a run, the light growing stronger as she got closer.  But when she finally broke into the clearing, the sight in front of her eyes brought her to an abrupt halt.

 

   The light was almost painfully bright, so much so that she had to shield her eyes with her hand.  Something was happening - she couldn't tell what, but there was a curious low humming sound and the leaves of nearby undergrowth were whipping as if in a strong breeze. 

 

   In the centre of the clearing stood Billy Miles still in his hospital pyjamas, with Theresa Nemman in his arms.

 

   Scully wanted to shout out or something, but couldn't.  She was frozen to the spot, her vocal cords numb.  From behind her she could hear a crashing sound, as if someone were running towards her; then whoever it was stopped.

 

   Scully heard a shout, and what sounded like a shotgun being fired; then there was a sharp flash of brilliant white light.

 

xXx

 

   "Scully?  Scully, come on, wake up!"

 

   Scully groaned.  "Oh God, my head ...."

 

   Mulder was raising her into a sitting position and gently supporting her.  "I'm afraid the Advil's back at the motel," he told her.  "What happened?"

 

   She blinked at him for a few moments in the reflected glow of his torch.  "I'm not sure ....  There was another flash."

 

   "Do you remember what happened before that?"

 

   "No - yes -  It was Billy Miles!"  Scully sat up sharply, her head forgotten.  "Billy Miles was stood in the clearing!  He had Theresa Nemman with him ...."

 

   Mulder's eyes widened.  "Are you sure?  Because ...."  His voice trailed off, and he moved out of her line of sight.

 

   Sheriff Miles was crouched in the centre of the clearing, a shotgun by his side.  It took a few seconds for Scully to register that he was crouched over the body of his son, weeping.

 

   "The sheriff shot him," Mulder said quietly.  "He said he had to stop him - had to stop whatever he was doing.  But there's no sign of Theresa Nemman anywhere, Scully."

 

xXx

 

   "So what are your conclusions on this case, Agent Scully?"  Assistant Director Skinner asked.  He hadn't given any overt reactions either one way or another while he read her report, but that didn't mean a thing.

 

   Scully, once again neatly dressed in a tailored suit, was outwardly calm as she sat in front of his desk, but inwardly tense.  "I am still of the opinion that the Class of '89 at Bellefleur High School were the victims of some sort of incident  - perhaps drug-related - which caused extreme shock and mental imbalance, Sir," she said steadily.  "That may account for the atypical behaviour which led a number of them to wander outside their homes in the night and meet with accidents which caused their deaths.  However - " she took a deep breath, "that does not, in most cases, explain the lack of a cause of death.  Nor does it explain the condition of the corpse found in the grave of the late Ray Soames, or the attitude and actions of the sheriff, the County Medical Officer, or the Coroner.  Nor does it explain these."

 

   Scully dipped one hand in her pocket and drew out a small vial containing the two metal implants.  She put it carefully down in front of AD Skinner. 

 

   Skinner picked it up and held it to the light, looking at the two objects thoughtfully.  "These are the two implants you mentioned in your report?"

 

   "Yes, Sir.  I had them in my pocket all the time, and they are the only surviving pieces of evidence."

 

   "What are they?"

 

   Scully shook her head.  "We haven't been able to determine that yet, but the crime labs have established that the metal they're constructed of is an unknown substance."

 

   Skinner sat back in his seat, the fluorescent strip light reflecting off his glasses, and passed one hand over his balding head.  "Off the record, Agent Scully - what do you believe happened?"

 

   But Scully shook her head again.  "I don't know, Sir."

 

   Skinner picked up his pen and studied it thoughtfully.  "And what does your friend, _ex-_ Agent Mulder believe?"

 

   Scully hesitated.  "Mr. Mulder believes we are not alone, Sir," she offered finally.

 

   Skinner nodded.  "That will be all, Agent Scully."

 

   She got up and went to the door.  But just as she was turning the handle, Skinner added, "Agent Scully?"

 

   She turned back nervously.  "Sir?"

 

   "You did a good job.  A very good job."

 

xXx

 

   The address was in a pleasant residential area of Virginia, and it had cost Scully two tickets to the Redskins game.  Just as well she hadn't been planning to use them after all - but Danny Vallodeio wasn't to know that.  She mounted the steps to the front door, casting an appreciative glance around her, and rang the bell.

 

   There was a significant pause, then the door opened to reveal a rather harassed-looking Fox Mulder.  His face broke into a delighted smile when he saw her, though.  "Hey, Scully!  What brings you to this neighbourhood?"

 

   Scully hesitated.  "Have I come at a bad time?" she asked doubtfully.

 

   "Not at all.  Come on in."

 

   The house was very neat, but with a curiously old-fashioned feel, and not at all the kind of place Scully would have expected to find Mulder living in.  It didn't seem very ... him.  Then she remembered that he lived with his mother, and was consumed by a sudden desire to meet Mrs. Mulder.

 

   "My mom's out at the moment, visiting some friends," Mulder said, as if reading her mind.  "Can I get you a coffee?"

 

   "That would be lovely."

 

   He ushered her into a small sitting room, and promised to be back shortly, leaving Scully to look around her in fascination.

 

   In fact, it wasn't a sitting room at all, but a small library.  Scully put her bag down on a little table and went to study the bookshelves.  She was abruptly reminded, looking over them, that Mulder was Jewish; there was an old and beautifully bound copy of the Talmud, alongside other books.  Scully wracked her brains, trying to remember what little education she had received in other religions at her convent school.  Some of them were prayer books, she knew.  There was a small glass cabinet in between two of the bookcases, containing various beautifully wrought articles in silver, including a Menorah.

 

   A sudden rattling noise on the polished wooden floor of the hallway made her turn, and blink in surprise.

 

   In the doorway of the library, staring back at her, was a toddler seated on a sturdy wooden train.  He had dark hair which stuck up a little in an endearing tuft at the front and big hazel eyes; he looked to be about eighteen months old.  Probably he couldn't walk properly yet, but he obviously had no problems getting where he wanted to go on his toy train.

 

   Mulder appeared behind him carrying a tray with a coffee pot, cups, cream jug and a squat plastic baby-mug on it.  He looked down at the toddler, who was tipping his head back to look up at him.  "Well," he said chidingly, "you can say hello, can't you?  You were talking enough earlier."

 

   The little boy looked at Scully again, but obviously decided against speaking, eyeing her dubiously.

 

   Mulder stepped around him and put the tray down on the coffee table.  Something about his expression told Scully he was nervous.  "I hope you don't mind," he said, setting out the cups.  "He's going to bed in a minute, but if I don't give him his milk he'll take forever to settle down."

 

   Scully smiled in spite of herself. He sounded like her sister-in-law.  But she was alive with curiosity.  "He's cute," she said, watching the little boy propel himself further into the room, "but whose is he?"

 

   There was an uncomfortable pause in which she instantly felt like an idiot; then Mulder said awkwardly, "He's mine.  And Phoebe's."

 

xXx

 

   "I'm sorry, but I couldn't tell you before," Mulder said quietly.  "It was hard enough telling you the rest."  He got a firmer grip on the squirming toddler and sat him squarely on his lap, before offering him the baby-mug.  "Sit still for two seconds!  Besides," he continued, "I don't know if I could have explained in a way you'd have believed at that point, even if I'd wanted to.  It still seems pretty fantastic even to me."

 

   Scully wasn't sure what she was feeling at the moment, but the curiosity still seemed to be predominant, fortunately.  "You're saying that he wasn't born before you separated from her?"

 

   Mulder nodded.  "I told you she drugged me.  Well ... when I came out of hospital, she was gone and I thought that was it.  The divorce still went ahead, and although I've never been able to hand her the 'get', legally speaking we're divorced.  But about a week after the decree nisi came through, I got a call from a guy in Denver who'd been at Quantico with me.  He was visiting his sister in hospital after she'd had a baby, and while he was there he thought he saw Phoebe in the next room.

 

   "So he thought about it a bit, and went back to the Denver field office and checked up, and when he realised she was wanted, he hot-footed it back to the hospital with his SAC and a couple of other agents.  Only to find that Phoebe was gone - leaving behind the baby she'd given birth to the day before."

 

   "Oh God," Scully murmured, beginning to feel slightly sick.

 

   Mulder paused and looked up at her.  The toddler, oblivious to the conversation, continued slurping on the baby-mug as though his life depended on it.  "This is the bit of my file which Danny couldn't tell you about," he explained.  "They classified it, so that half the Bureau couldn't go taking a look when they felt like it.  So, anyway ...

 

   "Simon's SAC contacted Washington, and when AD Skinner heard what was going on, he threw me and Reggie Purdue - who was my SAC at the time - on a plane to Denver.  Where they did emergency DNA tests and established that the baby was mine.  And that's when the huge mess I told you about started."  Mulder smiled suddenly, in spite of himself.  "Parts of it are quite funny, in retrospect - like Reggie phoning my mother to tell her what was going on.  She went absolutely nuts, and had him running around trying to find a Rabbi to get Sam circumcised.  I've got to hand it to him - he was really organised, and just took over and dealt with everything, which is just as well, because I couldn't have ordered a coffee from a vending machine at that point."

 

   "It must have been a shock," Scully observed, fascinated.

 

   He looked wry.  "That's an understatement.  I never expected to have kids, I hadn't got a clue what to do with a baby.  Reggie wasn't much better.  Sam kept crying on the plane home, and neither of us knew what to do, so we ended up with one of the flight attendants sitting with us.  I kept wondering what I was going to do with him when we got home, and how I was going to manage, which was stupid because - "

 

   "Your mother had already picked out which room you were going to have, and which one would make a good nursery," Scully finished, grinning, and Mulder snorted a laugh.

 

   "You have a mother like that too?"

 

   "You have no idea."

 

   There was a companionable silence for a while.  Scully drank her coffee thoughtfully, and Mulder patiently mopped his son's face and front clean of the inevitable spills.

 

   One thing was niggling at Scully, though.  "Mulder, why did she do it?"

 

   He didn't pretend not to understand what she was asking.  "I honestly don't know, Scully.  Phoebe never wanted children, and she was the last person alive to have scruples about abortion.  I can't imagine why she let herself get pregnant like that, let alone carry it to term and then give birth.  The only remotely characteristic part of the whole thing is that she abandoned him."

 

   "Cup," Sam interrupted suddenly, and offered his father the baby-mug.

 

   Mulder took it. "Yeah, it's your cup," he said affectionately.  "Have you finished?"  The toddler nodded.  "And are you ready for bed now?"  Another nod.  "Okay, say goodnight to Agent Scully."

 

xXx

 

   When he returned, Scully was gazing once more at the Menorah in the glass cabinet.

 

   "My great-grandfather made it," he said, seeing her interest.  "He was a silver-smith.  My grandparents brought it with them from Holland just before the War; this house was theirs too.  Mom and I rent it from one of my uncles."

 

   She nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.  "Mulder," she said abruptly, "I thought you'd want to know - all the evidence has disappeared."

 

   He looked at her thoughtfully.  "You mean Ray Soames's body?"

 

   Scully nodded.  "The crime labs never received it."

 

   "It's a good bet it never actually left Bellefleur," he pointed out gently, and watched the anger and frustration cross her face; the same anger and frustration he'd felt two years before.  "What did AD Skinner say?"

 

   She snorted a rather humourless laugh.  "That I'd done a good job."

 

   "You did," he said sharply.  "Don't beat yourself over this, Scully - you did the best job anyone could possibly expect of you, but you were never meant to win.  That's not your fault."

 

   "But if I'd moved faster, maybe Billy Miles and Theresa Nemman - "

 

   "Theresa Nemman turned up in her bed two days later," he interrupted.  "She survived, which is more than Karen Swenson and Peggy O'Dell did.  As for Billy Miles - he was already dead.  They'll charge Sheriff Miles with manslaughter, and he'll probably get a suspended sentence on compassionate grounds.  End of story."  Mulder reached out and gripped her shoulder.  "Let it go, Scully.  There'll be other occasions with better odds."

 

   She smiled in spite of herself.  "You think?"

 

   He nodded wryly.  "Believe it."

 

   Scully accepted this with a nod, and picked up her bag.  "I'd better be going."

 

   But as Mulder showed her to the door, she remembered one other thing.  "Oh, I nearly forgot - I had those implants analysed."

 

   Mulder's brows rose in interest.  "And?"

 

   "The crime labs couldn't identify the metal, let alone what they were for."  Scully patted her pocket, looking for the vial, then checked in her bag.  "I could have sworn I ... no, dammit, I must have left them in Skinner's office.  Looks like I can't give you a souvenir from Bellefleur after all."

 

   Mulder grinned.  "Hey, I still have my torch," he reminded her, and Scully laughed.

 

xXx

 

   The room in the basement of the Pentagon was very large and stacked high from floor to ceiling with row upon row of shelves,  and the door to it had a complex lock which buzzed faintly before releasing to allow a tall, dark-haired woman to enter. 

 

   Pausing briefly to switch the lights on, she scanned the shelves before heading down one narrow walkway, trailing her fingertips across the locked steel boxes stacked there as if she was she was searching for something.  Apparently she found it, for a moment later she stopped, pulled out a key and unlocked one particular box.

 

   Inside were rows of little glass vials.  The woman brought out a similar vial from her coat pocket and compared it to the others.

 

   It was the two metal implants from Ray Soames's body; and the box contained dozens of identical vials containing identical implants.  Satisfied, the woman added the Bellefleur evidence to the box, and locked it up again.

 

   That done, she headed down another walkway between two sets of shelves until she came to a huge bank of filing cabinets at one end.  Pulling out a slender case file marked "FBI", with the number #X-1.01-091093 handwritten in the corner, she selected a cabinet and opened it, putting the file inside very precisely, and locking the drawer again.

 

   The woman turned to leave – and paused.  She turned back to the cabinets again and scanned the identifying labels on the front of the drawers, then selected one, unlocking and opening it.  For a moment, she hesitated again, but came to a decision and began looking through the tightly-packed files there.

 

   After a moment, she half drew one out and checked the label.

 

   MULDER, WILLIAM CHRISTOPHER.

 

   She put it back and pulled out another.

 

   MULDER, SAMANTHA ANN.

 

   And another.

 

   MULDER, FOX WILLIAM.

 

   She paused, and pulled that one out fully.  For several minutes she flipped through it, a half-smile on her face, then she slapped it shut and put it back.  She pulled out the next one.

 

   MULDER, SAMUEL JOSEPH.

 

   It was a very small file, but that was hardly surprising for the subject of it's contents was also – as yet – very small.  The woman opened the file and examined the birth documents and tissue samples thoughtfully.

 

   From the expression on her face, it would be hard to say whether Phoebe Green-Mulder actually felt anything at that moment, but her actions a few minutes later laid to rest any doubts.

 

   Shrugging her shoulders, she closed the file and shoved it back in the filing cabinet, locking the drawer briskly.

 

   Then she walked back out of the room, switching off the light as she went.  The door clunked shut behind her and the lock buzzed briefly.

 

   Just another day's work.

 

 _~ finis ~_


End file.
